


HERESY: Tales of The Amor Undam

by psytronix



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Cheese, Dom/sub, Domination, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Genderbends, Heresy, Lemon, Porn, Submission, Surprising lack of grimdark, Weird, bad is sub, genderbender, good is dom, noblebright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psytronix/pseuds/psytronix
Summary: A galaxy in strife - the Immaterium bursting at the seems - and an Empire, falling... What are the Gods to do? (TAKE A GUESS, IT'S PORN)
Relationships: Imperial Guard/Orkz, Iron Lord/Dark Eldar, Ka'Bandha/Sanguinius (WH40K)
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're really into 40k lore, please tell me how much I mischaracterised the characters below; I'd really appreciate any unbridled rage in the reviews, even better if it contains the phrase "a betrayal of the source material".
> 
> Thanks.

“There is yet hope.”

Furious, howling winds whipped ‘round the battered valleys of Baal. A chant of a billion hungry daemons sung atonally throughout it’s irradiated peaks and perilous ground, prepared for an unholy assault. Once more, the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels was brought to bear the weight of his brothers, to lead them to a victory against an enemy unending.

Nearby settlements were raided first. Scouts went missing. Then, having returned on a whim; Mephiston warned Dante, horror escribed deep into the very fabric of his mind.

“Something terrible is to happen, brother.”

Dante stood at the peaks of the Arx Angellicum, surveying the lands, finding nothing but Khorne’s red hordes, encircling their position. They were chanting, striking the ground with mighty chainaxes and cursed weaponry, mocking the very lands they strode upon. The 8 mighty armies fought between each other, their sights set on the heights of the Blood Angel’s Fortress-Monastery.

But they were waiting, just outside of the range of the Fortress’ defences. 

T’was unlike Khornate hordes, to fight against their own itch, drive, lust for battle; to deny themselves the glory of the kill, the blood of their enemy - but there they stood, octagonal in formation, as thunderous footsteps erupted from the army facing the spire’s entrance.

The roars died down as the Greater Daemon of Khorne materialised from the Warp itself, reality being ripped apart and mended quickly shut behind it. It roared, cackling with laughter, and pointed it’s mighty whip towards the Arx Angellicum.

“The Warp stirs,” it bellowed, snarling, marching forth, “and the Blood God hungers. Bring forth the mighty spirit of your progenitor, so that I may spill his saintly blood against the moons!”

With the lack of the Warp’s shining light, Dante gritted his teeth; knowing what the Greater Daemon intended for them. It wished to invigorate their Rage; bring forth The Sanguinor so that he may best it in battle, just once. To do so, it had to kill them, Dante found. It had to break their legion as it had before, driving them near the point of no return, to light their faith with a resurrecting fire.  
The Chapter Master shook his head as his legion stared to him for guidance, so he joined them, leaping down and standing amidst his brothers. They stared, gripping their weapons tight, ready to face the mighty hordes; not caring that the Imperium Nihilus had cut them off from any reliable reinforcements.

“Men,” he spoke softly, calm, “should the Tyranid foe descend upon our monastery, our blood will flow true with our father’s strength. Should our brothers fall, we will remember them, and take their power into ours. Should Chaos itself disgrace our world with it’s burning hooves, we will fight in honour of the memory of Sanguinius himself.”

Their comms lit up, taking in the message, and they acknowledged their Master, marching forth; cannons whirring up, shields humming, a faint aura of their combined faith swimming amidst them, like water. Beating his gargantuan wings, the Daemon screamed into the air, letting his legions loose against the Blood Angels.

As bombardments rained from the peak of the Arx Angellicum, a fire stirred within it’s crypts. Blood oozed from the tomb of Sanguinius himself, alerting the servitors and priests within it. From within the hallowed ground, they could hear the mighty drums of war tearing down at Baal’s canyons, destroying as they came.

Outside, the two tides of the red armies had barely met blade with blade before they stopped, halting their marches. The very winds of Baal ceased, letting the rad-crusted dust settle upon its planes, bringing forth a new fear to both legions. They couldn’t move; dared not to, as they stared between each other, shivering. Dante, prepared for the very end of his life, craned his head back to stare upon Mephiston, the psyker’s mouth open in a silent scream.

It was then, they bore witness to it. 

Both sides of the battle, ready to be annihilated for their causes, couldn’t tear their gathered gazes away. In the heavens, a fluctuating, warbling wave of psychic energy descended upon the Death World’s surface, it’s golden threads impacting against each and every soldier. They felt warmth, humbling and comforting, strike their very cores; followed shortly by a chilling, piercing scream.

In the dust-fields between Dante and the Greater Daemon, the scream emanated; sending another psychic wave of shock to every sentient being who could hear it. It seemed to destabilise the very Warp around them, causing some of the forces of Chaos to fade away entirely. The stronger daemons and legions stayed behind, covering their ear-analogues to halt the scream’s power.

It was awful, driving some Blood Angels to their knees; tears pouring down the faces of some, reminding them of the Black Rage; the knowledge of Horus’ abhorrent treachery against their father. It continued as flames lit around the field, circular, birthing an entity into existence. It’s golden face appeared first, melting from the settled air, etched into a horrible roar.

“Yes,” the daemon rumbled, staring at the mighty angel’s inception, “Yes!”

The Sanguinor appeared - screaming in agony still, a brilliant flame adorning it’s feathered wings, as a thin wisp of blood soared above the Angel’s heads. Stemming from the crypts of thew Arx Angellicum itself, Dante struggled to stand as he took his helmet off, not believing the filtered sight of his wargear.

Without warning, another golden wave beat upon the surface of the Death World, and The Sanguinor’s scream shrilled louder against the roar of Khorne’s hordes - paralysing them in fear. Blood Angels wept in the open, dropping their weapons as that warmth continued to flow through them, piercing their very souls.

Another wave, and this time, the pain finally hit Dante, as he echoed the Sanguinor’s horrid roar, clasping either side of his head. It stared back to him, revealing to him a sight more horrifying, more chilling, and invigorating, all the same.

Flesh burnt against the melting masque of the Sanguinor. His armour fell into pieces, tumbling and shattering into dust upon Baal’s grounds, fading from existence. His screaming died down as a fourth and fifth wave hit him consecutively, a very real body appearing before the Chapter Master’s eyes.

He couldn’t even vocalise his shock, pain still rippling through his mind as the winged beauty, the Angel of the Imperium, the Blood-Father of the Blood Angels, the Sanguinor, Sanguinius himself, appeared before him. He was lit with a brilliant golden aura, reflecting a holy light off each strand of his flowing hair.

Sanguinius, a Primarch reborn, hovered above the air with grace, and reeled back to face the hordes of Khorne himself, calming his mind so that his sons would not be hurt further. Baal was silent still; the winds giving way for the Primarch to organise his thoughts, to take in the message of his own father, and his new mission; sent by the Aurea Fluctum.

“Ka’Bandha,” Sanguinius greeted, smiling now, bowing to the Bloodthirster in deliberate mockery. The daemon snorted at him, and roared at it’s recovering legions to step back, allowing them a field to battle in.

“Angel… You are larger than you were before. And you fight me with no armour? Truly, you are determined to be broken again,” it mused, grinning and bearing it’s foul fangs at the Primarch. Sanguinius had the decency to blush, his legion now noticing his state of dress.

He chuckled, as another intoxicating, warming wave belted upon Baal again.

“I’m not going to fight you, Ka’Bandha.”

He sung those words, and the hand of Khorne growled, insulted. It began a mighty leap, but stopped itself as the golden waves hit, again and again. Every muscle of the daemon’s skin popped, poked, and stretched, breaking against it’s skin as it’s own flesh reformed. The same went for the gathered hordes of Khorne, whose growls turned into gurgles, as their very forms were changed.

Dante took notice of the nature of their changes immediately, and found his psychic mind-violation paling in comparison to the shock of the morphing army before him. He stuttered, stammered, and stared upon the hordes as the naked Primarch turned back to him once more.

“This is not the work of another force in the Warp. It is purely by the Emperor’s will that I even stand before you, and it will be by his will, by his design that we will win this battle today, Dante,” he intoned, striding forth majestically towards the morphing, kneeling daemon.

“What… What manner of Slaaneshi trickery is this?” Ka’bandha grunted, struggling to even stand as it’s body melded into a new, enticing shape. A final golden wave struck their bodies, and the daemon collapsed to the ground, staring up at the now-rigid cock of Sanguinius, reborn. The Bloodthirster marvelled, marvelled at the proud organ, standing over a foot long, streaked with thick veins, already quaking with precum.

“Slaa… Slaa-neshhh…” the daemon growled again, instinctually prodding at the new growth at her groin, the fiery folds of fuckery she raged against, a roar brewing in her throat. She kept her eyes on Sanguinius, as did her howling armies, as he knelt before her, radiance shining off his smile.

“There’ll be no fight, Ka’bandha. I will break you, as I did before, but I will not send you back to the wastes of the Warp. I’ll keep you,” he chuckled, stroking the demon’s hot red cheek, noticing even her face had been warped, made into something more pleasing to the eye. 

The Bloodthirster lept upwards, intent on destroying the Sanguinor. Lashing out her whip towards his stomach, she found her movements sluggish, slow, even. The Primarch avoided the blow deftly, and appeared behind her, taking tight grip of her thick, crimson thighs. She froze in place, finding the new additions to her body to be flaring at the actions, and whimpered.

He soared, hovering above her forces, lifting the daemon’s hooved legs behind her head, spreading her dripping pussy for her morphed masses to witness. Taking grip of her horns, Sanguinius locked Ka’bandha’s soft flesh against itself, linking his hands around her. As both armies bore witness to the aerial, degenerate heresy, Sanguinius teased at the mighty Bloodthirster’s cunny, rubbing his enflamed cock at her lips, lubricating with her juices.

Her begging; the greater daemon’s whimpering moans and airy breaths could be heard across the valleys, echoing throughout the great dust plains of Baal. She found herself losing control of her senses quickly, as if the very tie of the Warp was fading around her, but still felt every nerve of her sex spark with anticipation.

“F-... Slay me, t-t-take me, destroy m-me…”

She felt every part of her Emperor-twisted body yearn for Sanguinius to ravage her. And Ka’bandha wept, roaring to her army in rapturous glee as he indulged her, sheathing himself inside her freshly-deflowered pussy. Her stomach and core tightened with every lightning-fast thrust of the Primarch, his crotch slamming against her ass with a ferocity of a man reborn. She felt, for the first time in her existence, happiness at the thought of defeat, the thought of being broken again.

Ka’bandha growled, eyes rolling into the back of her skull, as she came; ascending to the heavenly peaks with her new master, Sanguinius. He continued, with glorious energy, egging on his legion to do the same as he was, to do carnal battle with the enemy. Sanguinius let slip his mighty meat, allowing the Bloodthirster to spill her daemonic essence unto her army, embarrassing the great monstrosity.

She attempted, feebly, to shield her face, to hide away from the horrified stares of her legion, as they were captured, defeated, and fucked like she was. Ka’bandha wept, in a mix of shame, pleasure, hatred, and lust at the glowing warrior who held her captive. As she hung, limply, she felt him turn her head, gripping one of her horns tight, as they locked lips, the Angel hungrily running his tongue along her sharp teeth.

He growled into their kiss as he thrust inside her once more, swapping his hands so that one could play with her sparkling red clit, the other clamping tight around her limp legs. She stared, half-lidded, into the eyes of Sanguinius, her new master, and lost control once more, spasming around the thick cock of the Primarch.

If he knew it; knew how easily he broke her with his body, he didn’t show it, didn’t say a word. He simply kept fucking, his eyes lit with a holy fire even Ka’bandha could see the light of. He broke their kiss, letting drip saliva from their mouths, the sound of their breaths set against the flapping of his wings, and smiled again.

She mewled, still facing him, and jetted out her sweet, Khornate nectar, sullying herself in front of her master as his cock continued to piston in and out of her. If she could, a blush would’ve kissed her already-red cheeks. But the cringing of her face, the knowledge that he’d won against her again was enough for both of them. 

“Y-you’re… Ahn~... E-enjoying this, a-aren’t you?” She asked, between harsh, biting moans. 

“I’d enjoy it more if you kept begging, Ka’bandha.”

She shied away from his gaze, and shut her eyes tight, letting the warmth of his cock fill her, penetrate her very chaotic being. She focussed on the iron-tight grip of his hand, digging into her thigh-flesh, and the tender ministrations of his deft fingers, toying with her clit as if she were a cute Felinid vagrant he’d picked up off the street. His own moans, the thunderous quake of his balls, preparing for his own release, drove her to a new kind of insanity.

With these in mind, she let the words flow from her mouth, whining and whimpering for him to continue, to get rougher, faster, to make her cum, cum, and cum again. She could nearly feel the pull of Slaanesh herself, the pleasure God’s tendrils snaking around her core, but found that it disappeared within an instant.

Ka’bandha screamed to her newly-fucked legions again, as Sanguinius erupted within her, releasing a millennia of seed inside her waiting honey pot. The hot liquid stuffed her quim with overwhelming force, and she found herself ejaculating over it again, sputtering a mix of the Primarch’s geneseed and her own essence to a crowd of waiting, wanting mouths below them.  
She stared down, and witnessed as Sanguinius’ shaft still flexed, still jerked with legendary motion, firing cum like a Titan’s cannon. 

The Bloodthirster yelped in surprise as she was flipped, almost without effort, and had her mouth forced upon the spurting length. She began choking, spitting out the cum that had filled her daemon-womb, and roared in orgasm once more, as the Primarch’s tongue entered her asshole, exploring it’s dark depths.

“St-no-ah~...” she whined, before giving into the overwhelming sensations, hanging limp as Sanguinius hugged her body tight to his. Freeing a hand, he guided her head back onto his cumming cock, and forced her to take him in once more, roaring in euphoria at the hellishly hot mouth of the chaos-spawn. As if furthering his dominance, Ka’bandha burned the image of the Angel’s testes into her mind, as they slapped against her forehead, barely missing her horns.

The Greater Daemon of Khorne stayed in the air for what felt like eons. Every moan was broadcast to her legion; every wail, every fire-packed climax that let them know she had failed, she had submitted, and, if judging by her voice, she was happy with that. 

By the time the two armies were done, 8 days and 8 nights had passed.

(...)

“Any further word from the Emperor, milord?” Dante asked, knelt in front of the still-nude Primarch. Bound at his waist was the whimpering form of Ka’bandha, who eagerly bounced herself upon his lap, the fat slap of her rosy asscheeks echoing throughout Sanguinius’ chambers.

He remained impassive, irked at Dante’s persistence, armed with the knowledge that he was attempting to evade his newly-converted daemon-servants.

“We are to wait until His light shines through to us once more. I’d also request a bit of… Privacy, Chapter Master,” he motioned the legendary warrior to the door, and sighed, releasing inside the Greater Daemon once more as it slammed shut. Two other lesser daemons, former servants of Khorne, crawled to the couples’ coupling, lapping at their combined ejaculate.  
Ka’bandha, still swimming in her potent, exhilarating mix of shame and pleasure, failed to meet her lover’s gaze, and simply hugged herself tight to him. He separated them, and brought her head up, a finger beneath her chin. He appraised her form again, and smiled, gently kissing her lips. 

As he broke away, he slid himself out of her, sawing his cock between her jiggling cheeks, and chuckled.

“Mine.”


	2. Adeptus Mechanicus

About a hundred million kilometres away from the heart of the Imperium, three busy bodies worked and worked. Drills whined with short, precise bursts, and screws clinked gently on the ground of a dusty Adeptus Mechanicus workshop.

“Oh Gunnar? Hand me that wrench, would you?” A Techpriest sang, robotic arm stretched to receive the magical tool. Gunnar launched up from his chair and made sure the device was in the metal hand of his supervisor the  _ second _ her throat cleared to utter the command.

Though life was tough on the red planet, Mars still held some secrets, surprises, and the occasional sweetness. Even amidst the chaos of that was the 40 th millennium, Gunnar felt safe in the halls of Rhonu’s workshop, so long as he proved himself useful to his supervisors’ many robotic eyes.

They forwent Lingua-technis in front of him, but traded information with the other freely, the pathway of their mechanical minds faster than anything the boy could utter.

It was a challenge without robotic modifications, but the young man made it work. He was up early, and asleep earlier, performing at his human peak when needed, disassembling new tech endlessly, and carefully handling his supervisors’ ancient tools.

“Here you go Gunnar, a drink. May the Omnissiah see fit to bless our work today…” His other overseer intoned, rubbing the sleep from under her red-tinted goggles. She was at least a hundred, but showed no signs of such an age. Her back was ramrod straight, her eyes keen, and her mind sharp.

She followed in the Omnissiah’s ways, and found they paid her back graciously. 

“And may the Omnissiah ignore the remaining flesh on my body.” His supervisor, his  _ owner _ drawled, yawning away her own sarcasm. Gunnar’s overseer grunted in annoyance, but got to work quickly, working on another piece of ancient machinery on a table opposite her colleagues.

“And may he forgive mine...”

“But not my breasts. Let him gawk for the eternity he has left in the immortal plain, I don’t give a damn!” 

“RHONU!” Gunnar’s overseer screamed at his supervisor.

“And judging by your tone, you wouldn’t flaunt the gifts you’d been bestowed, Egasi?” Rhonu riddled, scratching her chin with a tiny, metallic tentacle. Egasi looked ready to explode, slamming her fists down upon her table, before uttering a prayer of forgiveness to the Machine God.

“One does not simply  _ flaunt _ the Omnissiah’s gifts, Rhonu! For His sake, keep your blasphemies in your mouth for the remainder of the morning!” Egasi enunciated, blowing a long flop of hair away from her sight as she stared down at her dented table.

Rhonu chuckled, and gazed ghoulishly at Gunnar, the keen flash of trickery speeding across her visor. Her charge was busy sweating as he shifted box upon box, working under the keen temperatures of Mars’ factories.

“There are few things that stay in my mouth, dear Egasi. Blasphemies I spit out early so I can make room for the finer things,” the smirking Techpriest taunted, making the young technician spit out whatever nutrient mix Egasi had given him out of embarrassment.

“RHONU TREMELLIUS!” Egasi  _ screamed _ back at her boss, eyes boring into the back of the humming Techpriests’ head. It wasn’t particularly that Egasi was in a bad mood – it was more to do with the effect Rhonu’s words had on  _ stimulating _ long dead thoughts in the younger Techpriests’ mind.

Only the Omnissiah knew when Techpriest Tremellius last copulated with a fellow human; but the way the enginseer would tease Gunnar could’ve fooled any mortal soul. For all Egasi knew, the elderly enginseer could’ve been… “tweaking” Gunnar, behind her back! 

_‘No… No, she wouldn’t. She cares about the lad too much. She wouldn’t…’_ the younger Techpriest assured herself, calming quickly as she focussed on her work. Gunnar shivered, sighed, and continued his work, sorting box upon box of various technical scraps, uttering the small prayers before handling anything particularly possession-prone, working as efficiently as he could.

Since he was saved from the slave’s block in the Factories of Mars, he lived to earn his place amongst his Techpriest owner. Though she didn’t say it all too often, Rhonu enjoyed how she was able to rile up her assistant. She’d long left her true feelings by the wayside, ditching them in favour of the eccentricity that came with a thousand years of life.

That being said, the last five years with Gunnar and Egasi had been her most memorable. 

“Egasi my dear, the Machine God cares not for the flesh of his followers. Flesh is fallible...” Rhonu began, leaving her words hanging for Egasi to finish them. The centenarian sighed, and relaxed her shoulders as the Warnings of the Cult Mechanicus resurfaced in her mind.

“…But ritual honours the machine spirit,” Egasi finished for her.

Rhonu chuckled, and got back to her work, her eyes darting back and forth between her project and her charge. Their morning went quick, and their work was productive thanks to the blessings of the Machine God. 

_ ‘This goes here, red wire into red wire, spark – yes? Good, good…’ _ As Gunnar picked up bits and pieces of machines, he went through his blessings diligently, before his hands seized. His knees buckled, lips quivered, and the hairs on his body stood – from bristly beard to shaking legs.

“O-o-oh, no…”

Egasi’s eyes snapped on Gunnar as she noticed the lack of noise coming from his table in the tight workshop. Rhonu slowly tore her gaze away from her trinkets, and noticed her charge’s change in pace.

“Gunnar, darling? Are you alright?”

“Did you forget prayers, Gun-“ Egasi’s words died in her throat as diagnostics of her bodies’ chemical balance came  _ blaring _ her ears. Rhonu’s eyes glazed as similar information was listed on her visor’s screen.

“Let me see… Dopamine levels: Critical, serotonin levels: Deadly, endorphins: Infinitesimal… Oxytocin levels: High… Oestrogen: Increased by  _ several magnitudes? _ ” Having reigned perfect control over her body for a good thousand years or so, Rhonu remained calm. Her two underlings were going to plough each other like farm animals, and Rhonu checked Gunnar’s body chemical composition via an implant she’d installed on him years ago.

She then smiled, and disabled her monitoring implants.

“Well, seeing as you two aren’t in the right mindset to be doing it, I shall say a few prayers for us to make sure our coupling doesn’t upset the Omnissiah. Don’t want him to lose his all-knowing mind over a few spilt drops of semen in a lasgun…” Rhonu drawled on, taking her time saying her prayers as Egasi and Gunnar circled one another, minds fading in the presence of the Emperor’s loving embrace.

Just as they were about to touch – lips to skin, Rhonu launched up with a sigh, standing between, pushing them away from the other.

“Oh, who am I kidding? Another show for the old God. And Egasi, dear, you’ve _ really  _ got to learn to tease! Make him work for it! And Gunnar, I know that look –  _ vaginal _ for your first time? You’re absolutely mad, boy!”

If he could’ve comprehended her words, he would’ve blushed. Rhonu had no doubt of that. With an inhuman strength, she slipped behind her assistant, and restrained him, locking him in a standing full nelson.

Gunnar struggled, but was silenced as Egasi smashed herself into the thin man, metal and fleshy limbs colliding against him all the same. The lizard-brain within Gunnar desired to  _ mate _ , so very badly, flooding blood to his cock in an effort to display his readiness to his partners. Egasi moved like lightning around the lad, goggles steamed with arousal, scanning for susceptible tease-zones on her lover’s body.

Rhonu giggled at the pair, and willed her robotic limbs to disrobe herself and her companions, giggling softly as the two pressed further into the other, Gunnar humping against Egasi’s thick, fleshy thighs. Separating the pair with another set of mighty metal tentacles, Rhonu shared a look with the enflamed, aroused Egasi, who whined as she attempted to reach out to Gunnar.

“Now, now –  _ tease,  _ darling!  _ Tease… _ ” Rhonu commanded, holding Gunnar tight against her nubile body. Egasi smiled and nodded in understanding, crouching and taking the young man’s length in her mouth, sucking eagerly. The weak-willed boy yelped as he felt the lips wrap around him and pressure take hold, letting airy moans escape his throat.

The factories of Mars fell silent only for a brief moment, before erupting with the grinds of metal on flesh – praises and songs in the names of the Emperor and the Omnissiah. It was as if, for a brief moment, the Emperor and the Omnissiah met, found  _ something _ in one another, and  _ mated _ .

The Techpriests and Enginseers connected,  _ truly _ connected with their workers, the citizens of the Imperium. The ever vigilant, noble and true Skitarii Cohort and their Imperial brethren who were waiting to be ferried on the Rings of Iron  _ bonded _ .

Gunnar’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as Egasi continued, whining and whirring,  _ wanting  _ the sweet seed of her lover. He moaned and mewled as Rhonu giggled, her many tentacles invading the boy’s most tender spots, massaging and prodding what needed it.

“Guh-… Ega-… Rho-…” He moaned, unaware of Rhonu’s lips on his – her tongue  _ tasting  _ him, his sweat, and the tears that were rolling down his eyes. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled his head back, delving into his mouth as she deepened their embrace.

His cheeks flared – more and more of his conscious returning – and Gunnar tensed. A fire began to roar within, and the two ancient women pleasuring him  _ knew _ it. Like the skilled Techpriests they were, they wanted to manipulate it, bend the flame to their will, and reuse it – to  _ play _ with the fire in the boy’s heart.

Like clockwork, two minutes after the previous pause, the factories of Mars quieted again. Everyone caught a breath – the awareness of the planet rose, and an event was birthed, one that would be celebrated by the likes of the Imperium and the Cult of the Machine. 

As the Treaty of Olympus gave word to the pact between the two factions, so did the Repose of Olympus reforge it!

The niggling thoughts, errant worries, and the overbearing fear of war that loomed over their heads – that threatened to disturb their way of life…

It went. It was done away with – like the processors of a redundant system. 

Egasi’s thoughts bombarded Rhonu’s implants as they conversed in their heated workshop. Cries of joy, repentance to the Ominissiah, and repetitions of “yes” overflowed Rhonu’s mind. In kind, Rhonu replied back with the victories against her charge – the way he’d twitch, bite his lip, or cry whenever she flicked a nipple, massaged his muscles, or just  _ kissed him _ .

In the third breath, the third wave of love that spread from the heart of the Imperium, Gunnar came. He seized at first, then let go, voice cracking under the assault of his two lovers. As his body went limp in Rhonu’s inhuman grip, Egasi set about prolonging the orgasm – vibrating his pelvis, massaging his balls, and, when the rest failed, injecting him with a rapid-effect concoction of her own making.

Gunnar had no clue what it was named, nor how she made it as fast as she did. Only that it made him feel  _ invincible. _

As he fired his seed into the Techpriests’ waiting mouth, he stood strong again, then broke free of Rhonu’s grip, flipping the ancient woman on her back – against the cold floor of their workshop. There, as she stared into his eyes – lit with a playful, vengeful fire, Rhonu smiled to him.

“May the Omnissiah forgive me for how much I’m about to enjoy this… Do your  _ worst _ , boy…” She edged him on, beckoning Egasi to join them again…


	3. The Lamenters

_ “This one, my sweet, is Rielle. She’s actually been scouting you from afar these past few days, and has wanted nothing more than to feel your long, fat cock in her asshole.” _

_ “Rielle…” Zekel tasted the name on his lips, purring as he rubbed the rear of the dazzling daemonette. She was bent, grinding her ungodly sex into the Marine’s, smiling as he called out her name. _

_ The campgrounds were roaring with the sound of sex. Durell’s night glistened with golden stars, dancing across the dark sky. A calm had befallen the planet-pillaging, empire-saving hordes of Slaanesh’s pleasure demons, and the Lamenters Chapter of the Space Marines. _

_ Locked behind him, knelt Hira, a former Space Marine of the Angels of Ecstasy. Twice now had “she” abandoned her name – where once she was a Son of Ulthanas, turned Angel, then corrupted further by Slaanesh’s powerful temptations. _

_ She had her hands, soft as the kiss of an Angel, wrapped around her lover’s length, keeping him rigid throughout her introduction of her two daemonettes. Her two pairs of breasts, gifts from her God, rubbed needily against Zekel’s back, as her heart-tipped tail whipped giddily around. Compared to the daemonette charges she was tasked with training, Hira was a giant, and lorded over the both of them with ease. _

_ Rielle had the curves to prove her worth to Slaanesh – a daughter spawned from the Warp’s energies, created solely to be used, or to dominate. And by her reaction to Zekel’s meat, rubbed against her dark purple ass, Rielle knew her place in this newly formed relationship of theirs. _

_ The very air around the Space Marine couple crackled with their presences – it was enough to drive the other, Ziandra, to finger herself madly, her pink cheeks dusted with a heavy blush. Her body, whilst lithe, was more inclined to temporary transformations. With a flick of her finger, Hira could bend the girl’s body to her will, creating another hole for Zekel to fuck, or adding a cock for Rielle to suck. _

_ Ziandra had once willingly given herself to Slaanesh, sacrificing her gang down in the Hive City for a chance at a better life. She was spirited away, and left a daemonic taint on the city that later drove it to be found and dominated by the Daemon Price she called her new God. _

_ Though she’d spent untold years of her new life getting fucked, corrupted, and used in every which way – she’d never found a domination nor a warmth such as the one she felt from Zekel and Hira. She displayed herself openly, bowing to their sheer strengths of will, burning the details of their bodies into her mind. _

_ She wanted them both to know that she was theirs. Crawling on her stomach, fingers jilling her pussy still, Ziandra slid behind and beneath the locked Marines, taking Zekel’s balls in her mouth.  _

_ “Good girl, Ziandra. Make sure to keep up with our sweet, here… Us Marines can build up quite the speed…” _

_ Rielle’s tight asshole invited him in – riveted tentacles tickling his entire length as he penetrated the daemonette – showing her the “will of the Emperor”. She cried out as Zekel took grip of her hips, slamming himself in and out, growling as his balls quaked inside Ziandra’s mouth.  _

_ “That’s good, my sweet… One hot load, down the hatch, and she’ll be all yours…” Hira whispered to her lover, nibbling at the nape of his neck. _

<><><>

_ Hours later, they collapsed. Stained and bathed Ziandra and Rielle licked at the other, and the limp length between them. Hira snored, a smirk plastered on her face as Zekel groaned himself to sleep, loosely embracing the others. _

<><><>

A sun rose over the weary planet Durell. Slaaneshi hordes lay in the thousands amongst the carnal planes of the daemon world, resting eagerly. Buried beneath three warm bodies, a tent over his head, a young Marine awoke. 

He breathed, very, very deeply.

A deep breath in, and a shallow, steady breath out. Cute moans eased out of the pink bodies clinging to him as his scarred stomach stirred.

“…By the Emperor… What happened?” Zekel asked aloud, his throat hoarse, voice quiet.

Judging by the sizes, physiology, and daemonic features of the bodies beneath him, Zekel made an educated guess as to the nature of his-

_ ‘I’m naked. They are too… And… By the Emperor, we coupled…’ _

He waited, staring down at the inhuman beauties atop him – the larger female adorned with the same modifications as he – a former marine? 

_ ‘Slaaneshi forces, daemon’s corruption…’ _

He only rested – a gilded, glorious calm resting over the planet’s surface as he breathed. No shame nor daemonic presence plagued Zekel, no markings nor (further) blemishes to his body – save for a purity seal that was stuck to his sac.

Conflict dared to rise within him – caused by the simple lack thereof.  _ Why _ didn’t he feel shame? Why was there no clear downfalling to his psyche after having given into Slaanesh’s temptations?

Why wasn’t he wringing the necks of the three harlots who had defiled him, and  _ why _ did that question bother him so much?

The questions and conflict faded all the same – he was left with a sense of peace as he sensed his brothers awakening in similar states. It spread throughout the campgrounds – a sense of knowing that the person in the tent next to yours had gone _ ,  _ for lack of a better term,  _ insane _ the night previously.

No judgement was passed on. All Lamenters and their assisting companies had the same thing happen to them – and none could hide the fact. It was freeing, like there was nothing to hide between the yellow brothers. 

Zekel arose, languid, and carefully shifted the clingy bodies off himself.

“Forgive me, rest easy…” He intoned, whispering sweetly into the pointed ears of the Slaaneshi pleasure Marine, letting her body rest softly against his makeshift bedspread. She moaned at the loss of heat – reaching out for the daemonettes to replace it.

Zekel poked his head out his tent, finding the Lamenter’s Chapter Master Malakim Phoros standing stark naked, darting his gaze about. Malakim evaluated the camp, and sighed, another Slaaneshi Marine making light conversation with him as he went about his morning routine.

“Master?”

Malakim shushed the younger Marine, and smiled.

“Zekel! Boy, why are you awake at such an- You’ve a purity seal strapped to your testes.” Malakim whispered, keeping his voice hushed for the sleeping remnants of the Lamenters and their daemonic lovers. The male-turned-female Marine giggled at the marked testes, hand wrapped tightly around Malakim’s waist.

“Good morning to you, brother. I assume Hira treated you right?” He/She/It asked, playing with an elongated, fleshy tail that sprouted from above her backside. Zekel shook his head and cleared his thoughts – the name “Hira” triggering his memory.

Blood crashed against his cheeks, and his cock twitched.

Malakim’s partner smirked, and kissed him on his cheek.

“She did.”

“M-Master Malakim… Do you have any idea why…” Zekel found the words dying in his throat – did he truly want to know  _ why _ the Lamenters survived a Slaaneshi onslaught, on an infested world, back in the Jericho Reach? Did he really want to know why his men weren’t bound, gagged, and being twisted against their will to abide by Slaanesh’s will?

_ ‘No…’ _ Zekel thought, questioning still – what if this was all a test? A ruse by Slaanesh, to test his, and the Lamenter’s wills?

“I can feel it, Zekel. A warmth, a  _ presence _ of some kind has spread… I… I can’t say if I know, truly, but the energies of Chaos have…” The Chapter Master’s hands shook at the idea –  _ something _ that could force between these two armies, and possibly more.

“Slaanesh’s hold over us has shrunken. I can no longer feel his guiding whims, nor her prying stare…” Malakim’s partner hummed, her fingers interlocking with his. A loss, and yet, somehow freed of the Prince’s stare, she appeared at ease, no rapacious fire to be seen in her eyes.

“By the Emperor… So…” Zekel bore his stare into the ground, fists clenched and ready for action. Malakim placed a calming hand on the shoulder of the Marine, and smiled.

“We’re not mobilising for some time, young Zekel. Should this be the trick of a demented beast of Chaos, then we’re already finished. If it is something that we couldn’t possibly comprehend, then the effort to do so would be futile.”

“Though this might sound biased, I’d suggest you find comfort here, Zekel. Hira has always woken early if she’d ever earned her rest, and I doubt she’ll be happy if she finds her lover escaped her grasp…” The pleasure Marine chuckled, tail swishing.

“Uh-“

“Consider it an order, child. And get that bloody seal off your balls.”

And so, with great hesitation, Zekel turned heel back to his tent, throwing a gaze back to his Chapter Master, who kept his eyes on his resting men, chanting some prayers. All while his companion embraced him, rocking gently with every step.

Zekel returned, gobsmacked, and entered the darkened fray of his tent. Hira, tracing circles along the dimples of Ziandra’s back, grinned at her lover’s return.

“Slept well, I assume?” Her voice brought back more depraved memories – her teasing commands, and his insistence of showing dominance to the daemonettes…

“B-Best I’ve had in centuries, darling…” He joked, slipping back into the bedspread alongside his lovers. One arm each, he grabbed Ziandra by her pale pink ass, and Rielle by her hips, dragging them back to their earlier positions on his chest.

“What, no room for me~?” Hira cooed, making room to lie herself down on her fellow Marine’s chest.

“If I recall correctly, you called these two “worthless wastes of holes who needed all the help they could get”. I’m just giving them their help,” Zekel chuckled, reaching for a sheet, wrap, or field blanket to wrap themselves in.

The corrupted Marine laughed at him, and shook her head, humming as she laid upon Zekel’s chest. The Lamenters around him, no doubt in similar positions, stayed quiet. The prayers of his Chapter Master did well to soothe him, and his fellow Marines, corrupt or not.

“We’d know best how to wake you, Zek… Remember this call of ours,” Hira whispered, hands softly tracing against the abdominals of her lover.

Ziandra shifted, and mewled into the embrace of the Marine.

“Mm… Fuck until you can’t…”

Rielle scrunched her nose up, then shifted a leg over Zekel’s, sliding a hand down between the rubbing sexes of her domineering lovers.

“…Rest until you can…”


	4. Catachan Jungle Fighters

A hunter lay in the deep jungle of Catachan. His face set in a grim line – the fauna having since been scared away by the nearby gunfire – he crawled ever forward to the Tau contingency that was stupid enough to have landed on the planet. In the midst of the Eye of Terror, they were preyed upon, their “Greater Good” doing naught to protect them.

So far, about twenty Catachan fighters had been captured, strung up and prodded by the likes of Slaanesh’s hordes. A daemonette was set about pleasuring a captured Tau Fire Warrior with a Canak Floater’s tentacles, before the thing exploded and mowed down her and her squad with its spores.

The hunter could only shake his head in quiet shame of the two armies before him. Adept to danger and sudden changes in the atmosphere of Catachan, the hunter’s hairs stood on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath, and marvelled as, slowly, the fighting forces seemed to stop entirely – each warrior locking eyes with the next.

He quickened his pace, and cursed as he heard a Tau weapon cock behind his head.

“D-Don’t move Gue’la!” And so, he didn’t – remaining perfectly still – making the sweet voiced Tau question whether or not she actually saw a man trudging through the Catachan mud.

_ ‘Sweet…’ _ He thought to himself, daring to hear the hooved warrior speak again.

“Your knife, Gue’la. D-Drop it!” And so he did – splaying his arms out slowly as the forces began to converge on his men. It then  _ hit  _ him, like the charge of a Catachan Devil, the  _ heat _ , the  _ warmth _ that wasn’t the planet’s musky mark. He could hear it even behind him – the quiet breath of the Tau Shas’La slowly deepening.

“And… And…” She huffed, stripping the arms off her armour in a bid to cool down.

The hunter slowly raised from his prone position as the Shas’La’s rifle dropped. He dared to stare back into the eyes of the shivering woman before him – her hot, blue skin dripping with molten sweat.

“D-Dy’neh!” She cursed, tearing her armour off, piece by sticky piece. Finally she took her helmet off, and  _ breathed _ . Her naked eyes caught his as her breath hitched, unbidden by the filter of her helmet. Catachan’s toxins failed to take hold in the Tau’s skin, simply dancing in the air around her twinkling eyes.

The hunter’s stare bored into her – eyes piercing through the veil of the Greater Good into the true heart of the Xenos warrior. She remained still, her skin bucketing with sticky beads, legs trembling in the presence of the hardy soul in front of her.

“Gue’la…” She whispered, legs dampening quickly as the hunter approached, his keen nose taking in the scent of her sweat. He smiled to her as “inhibitions” turned to just four syllables of gibberish. Emperor knew if the Shas’La knew what it meant either.

He didn’t speak – didn’t have to – the hunter knew what his scents broadcasted to the baser creatures of Catachan. He knew that the scent he was giving off now – sweat, mud, musk and all – was of  _ ownership _ . A flurry of blood rushed to his cock, and the animal within commanded what was  _ his _ .

The Shas’La’s knees began to buckle under the pheromonal assault. Struggling to gather any sense of her situation, she fell, knelt before the freed length of the hunter. It stood proud, saturated with Catachan’s heat and ample precum, dripping from tip to base. 

The Shas’La swallowed, hands reaching out before she could will them to, and licked. The hunter’s hands tussled her hair as she submitted to the will of the jungle, a different heat twinkling in her core. Little licks likened to laps, and laps likened to tongue lunges, as she coated the cock in saliva.

She held her tongue out and mewled as she let the combined fluids pool in her eager mouth, cradling the slickened balls of the jungle man. The animal within him growled in appreciation at the meek act, and he continued to rub her head, his balls threatening to explode in the gentle, caring hands of his new lover.

The buzzing of the Blood Wasps was drowned,  _ clashed _ by the errant tones of sex around them. Droves of Slaanesh’s hordes had now found themselves tied up, spanked, and gangbanged by the combined might of Catachan Warriors and the Tau Fire Caste. Not hole or pole was wasted – filled with something, wrapped  _ by someone _ .

The hunter tightened his grip of the Tau’s hair, and urged her gaze upwards. His stare was deepened, his eyes set firmly on hers. Without guidance, she took him in, tip and half length, down her throat. Her blue lips ebbed and flowed off the shore of his cock – sucking the errant fluids off with unbidden glee. The Shas’La’s eyes watered as she reached the base of the dick, holding her breath for as long as she could.

The hunter simply imprinted himself within her as she knelt there – knees in the mud, pussy wetting through the creases of her armour, and mouth full of human cock. His gaze imprinted  _ his taste _ on her tongue and lips – the salt of the sweat and precum drizzling down the back of her throat, forever burning the sensation to her memory.

Veins pressed against his neck – the enemies of the Imperium bore no match to the struggle he felt now – keeping his release back long enough to etch himself  _ within _ her. 

As her lips crinkled into a crooked smile and her eyes lightened, he smiled back to her, and tightened his grip on her hair further. His knuckles whitened as a great white wave erupted from his prick, quickly overloading the Tau’s mouth. She swallowed, coughed, and sputtered around the length, finally popping it from her mouth so she could breath.

And, like a great, cleansing wave, he  _ marked _ her as a man of the jungle – cum spraying on her face and hair in thick, hot ropes. Her tongue lolled out and her hands clamped firmly around his swelling balls, the Shas’La whined again as the taste of the pre intensified beyond her belief. He nodded to her, and she closed her eyes, swallowing every last drop she that gathered in her Xenos mouth.

She was  _ refused _ to lick the errant ropes off her face – to show Catachan that she, a proud Shas’La, had been  _ claimed _ .

As she panted, and her pussy quaked, the hunter kissed her, remarking on the tongue that had pleasured him so – bending and cupping the woman’s head in his hands. She felt the sensation of heat return to her cheeks as he praised her so, darkening with lust. She wrapped her arms around him, and embraced his scent, eyes deeply entwined with this, planning their next move without words.

He broke their embrace, and rubbed her head again,  _ tearing _ her soaked armour off with a single, swift motion. She shrieked as Catachan bore witness to her drooling cunt, and free, aqua breasts, which seemed to delight in the fresh air. The hunter licked his lips as he crouched down, smirking at the Tau.

With one finger, he poked her forehead, and she reeled back, falling on her back with a soft thud. With a whine of indignity, she poked him back, and they shared a quick laugh as he knelt at her spreading legs. He took grip, tight and steady, and sheathed himself within his Tau lover. Tears pricked at her eyes as she cried out – the mighty length that once marked her mouth now dominating her pulsing pussy.

Like a force of nature – a battering storm against lonely armaments, he pounded, thrusting as if victory for mankind – for  _ all _ kind, relied on him making the Tau  _ his _ , and  _ his _ alone. Heat and pleasure threatened to turn off the Tau’s mind entirely, her arms splayed lamely on the Catachan mud as her cunt was stretched,  _ moulded _ to fit the shape of her lover.

A deep, deep sensation rumbled in her tight tummy as her lips quivered and came around him, trembling in pure, utter submission at the mighty meat before her. It was like the Catachan volcanoes had threatened to erupt – to spill their lava in a tantric, godly release. 

Yet still she tried to keep her gaze on him – tears freely flowing out of love, lust, and calm. He shared the look – eyes twinkling with glee and the love they shared –  _ daring _ her to cum again. Again, the hunter marked  _ his _ Tau, the mighty, thick Shas’La warrior. His jizz flooded against her insides, and threatened him to not move – lest the dam break and the waters spill. 

Her sex felt as if it hung limp, her rear shifted slightly off the ground as she fought to catch her breath - to come down off her high. Her markings, the still freshly fired cum that adorned her face, drifted their scents to her nostrils, and she sighed. The hunter’s gaze fell upon her nubile,  _ strong _ body as she rested, his cock throbbing back to life inside her.

Her azure tits heaved, nipples puckered beyond anything, begging to be played with. 

But the hunter remained calm, and steady, catching his own ragged, raw breath. He pulled himself from the tight hole of the Tau, and lording over her, he dripped their result of their bond, all over her blue body. She whined again at the loss of him, but mewled as she opened her eyes to see the might of  _ her _ man, marking her further.

He met her gaze, and though her animal within wanted nothing more than to  _ lick _ them both clean, she was content bathing in their glow. Up until she was proverbially sucker-punched by an agent of Slaanesh, a thin, wispy daemonette literally  _ begging  _ to be fucked – or to “have a taste”.

Before she could spring her forked tongue across the Shas’La’s whitened cheek, the hunter picked up the daemonette, and forced her to look at him. She opened her mouth, eyes lit with a libidinous glow, but the words died. The hunter’s gaze bore into her, and she too, felt her cunt and asshole  _ throb _ at the sight of the man before her – and his most recent conquest.

He eyed her up, from her horns and pink antennae, to her gaudy green lips, to her scaled,  _ drooling _ ass. A pair of small, batty wings fluttered errantly on her back as excitement lit within her, amidst the hunter’s appraisal.

He smiled, and whipped the belt off his long fallen trousers, before pushing the daemonette from behind, slipping from her front to her back as she kept herself propped up – her juicy ass jiggling in the hot air.

The Shas’La could only stare in further excitement as she simply  _ witnessed _ her lover lord over another, his belt in hand. His smirk didn’t fade, and with a quick glance to his Tau companion, the hunter turned back to the daemonette, and reared his hand back.

The resounding  _ CRACK! _ was loud enough for all the forces to hear amidst their fucking, causing all of them to stop as they stared into the brush, at the pained expression of the Slaanesh daemonette. She screamed with deviant delight as she came, the sensation rocketing the juices from her already drooling pussy.

The hunter hit again and again, cracking his leather belt against the battered rear of the daemonette, until she begged for no more – her pink cheeks reddened and raw. She collapsed to the ground with a sick smile, daring to stare into the hunter’s piercing eyes. His smirk grew, and he pinned her down to the wet Catachan ground, one handing pinning hers behind her back, and the other spreading her abused ass cheeks.

With a nod, the hunter kept his gaze glued to the daemonette’s as he rammed into her asshole, cock already swollen from his previous coupling with his Tau lover. The animal within  _ drilled  _ the rear of the tainted spawn into the ground – and with every empowered thrust, she  _ came _ , again and again. Her mind was quickly driven to its baser form – all speech ripped from her throat - and her gaze glazed over as she broke eye contact with the Jungle Warrior.

He was quicker to finish inside the asshole  _ designed _ to milk him for his seed, and marked his new lover the same as his Tau lover – fanning his massive presence over hers as he allowed the daemonette to savour the sensation of his wriggling sperm, tickling her insides. With a final two thrusts, he finally pulled himself from the loosened grip of her back door, and stood her up again.

As she knelt, the daemon of Slaanesh lunged for the cock that had appraised her, but was denied. The Catachan warrior held a single finger up to the girl, and shook his head, keeping their eyes locked once more. He stood back from her, and began masturbating himself – keep his dick aimed squarely at the young daemonette’s face.

Fighting the hardest she’d ever have to fight for some cum, the daemonette sat still and waited for the sticky white stuff to plaster her face –  _ to mark her as his as well _ . The Shas’La crawled up to the hunter, and he held a free finger up to her as well – the animal within obeying her to  _ wait _ .

With a roar, another spurt or two hit the daemon’s face, and she too, was marked twice. Without further provocation – before the daemonette could even think about guzzling the sperm down – the Tau began licking it off her face. Not to be outdone, even in her baser stupor, the daemon licked back, at the slowly drying seed of the Catachan warrior that had marked the Tau’s face.

Their tongues met in the midst of licks, and licks soon turned to kisses, the tongues of the Xeno and the Daemon swirling about in the sea of the Human’s seed. 

Wordlessly they begged for more and more.

And the hunter was only too happy to oblige.

<><><>

He saw her twitch as she awoke – her nose taking in the new scents of the hut he’d fashioned out of sticks, stones, and leaves. It twitched before she did, shaking the daemonette off herself before throwing her cloven feet off the edge of their makeshift leaf bedding.

“This is a lot of-“ She cut her words short as she caught his gaze – smiling on instinct. Hunched over his backpack, she saw him preparing a bowl to share. Judging by the smells, she deduced it was a hodgepodge of spare rations he had, plus some freshly slain Grox meat.

With a curt clearing of her throat, she denied the bowl when he offered it to her.

“I d-don’t eat meat, Gue’la… Sorry.”

He nodded, smiling still, and ducked out of the hut, amongst the chattering and campfires of the makeshift camp the three armies had formed. Taking a moment to collect herself, eyes closed and body warm, the Tau Shas’La sighed, and jumped when she found a bowl of greens in her lap – and her lover, sitting adjacent from her.

The quiet night seemed to set peacefully over Catachan – the sounds of the fucking hordes having died down significantly. Laughter could be heard echoing all throughout, Tau Warriors sharing stories with their Daemonette and Catachan Guard audiences.

The hunter fingered over his bowl of meat and plant stalk, plus some starchy nonsense from some salvaged ration packs, and dangled some of it in front of the still sleeping Daemonette. On instinct, she nibbled at it, and soon awoke, clinging tightly to the Jungle Warrior for warmth.

The Tau shook her head and chuckled, digging into her lightly seasoned greens, savouring the sweetness of the crushed Heretic Ants and their diluted venom, swimming in the thick greens of Catachan.

“I am Shas’La Strohk, Gue’la. Or maybe just ‘Strohk for you… You are?” She formally introduced herself, pointing to the Tau etching on her breastplate, which had been collected at the side of their bed.

The hunter made a motion towards his throat, and lifted his chin up, showing the Shas’La his scarred, mottled skin. He pointed to a patch on his backpack that simply said “Fang”, and nodded to her, baring his sharp teeth.

“Ah… And you, Vash’ya?” Strohk nudged the nuzzling daemonette, who stirred and grunted in annoyance at the hoof against her side.

“Right up until… An hour ago, I was ready to go by the name “cocksleeve”. But I suppose Viluxel works. Call me Vi…” She mumbled into Fang’s chest, nibbling quietly on the food he’d given her.

“Vi… Strohk.” Fang repeated, his voice cracked and shattered beyond any human recognition. 

The Tau nodded to him, teeth quietly chattering.

“Means “mixed bag” in your tongue, Gue’la Fang.”

He chuckled, and nodded to her again, digging into his own meal as they listened to the sweet sounds of Catachan’s deadly jungles throughout the night.


	5. Iron Lords, Dark Eldar

In the pitch blackness of a Dark Eldar torture barge, there were only two. An Iron Lord, forcefully stripped of his armour, and his torturer. The razor walls of the ship bounced the hollow, taunting cackle of the torturer, as she danced around her captive. He was strung up, crucified on a spiked table, made a spectacle for the alien.

“You will not get anything from me, Xenos filth.” The Lord breathed, his unkempt hair falling past his eyes, pikes digging into his spine as he failed to keep himself standing. Said Xenos sighed and knelt in front of the lord, dragging an errant blade down the cheek of the Astartes.

“My mon-keigh, I’ve gotten all I needed! I’m just thinking on how I could dress you for my display – armour on, armour off? Helmet on, and nothing else?” With a lick of the bloody blade, she brought the Astartes’ hanging head up, and caught his steely gaze.

The twinkle in her dark eyes sickened the Space Marine to no end, yet he stored his rage for a later time. Hive Fleet Kraken was currently tearing up the world beneath them, and his chapter were slowly being picked off, one by one. Whether by the cross-attacking Drukhari or the Bio-Titans, he couldn’t care to distinguish.

His brothers needed him. One slip up from the taunting bitch who’d caught him, and he’d be free.

“I will die in my armour, and you will die  _ screaming _ , Xenos.”

Her fanged smile only grew.

“Oh how I’ll cherish this bravado when I finally render you mute, mon-keigh… It’s not every day we capture one of your kind…” She got up and searched for a sharper, angrier-looking tool with which to torment her captive.

“Let me think… Something with  _ teeth _ , or something with  _ spikes _ ? Oh I’m simply too giddy to decide~!” She sung, bracing herself as a shockwave hit her ship. The Iron Lord’s hairs stood on edge, and his eyes widened.

The ground beneath them had quieted. No one paid attention to the roars of battle – such a sound was accustom to daily life in the 41 st Millenium, but silence?

The two shared a look, the Dark Eldar torturer clawing at her tools in a haze. The Iron Lord’s resolve burnt anew as he attempted to break free whilst she was distracted. 

And then the ship rocked once more. A warmth burnt in the Lord’s core, and his gaze softened. His mind spun in a haze as he struggled to keep his eyes on the Xenos torturer.

“What… What have you done to me?” An organ of his, ignored for centuries or more, vied for his attention as a certain torturer calmed herself and  _ sighed _ . Only the Emperor himself would know why a  _ sigh _ set him off.

Perhaps it was the context? Such a calming and high pitched sigh it was, escaping from the Eldar’s full lips, so easily… Maybe it was the connotations of such a sigh? The Eldar seemed to have nothing to worry about – and such a sigh was warranted!

Or maybe it was the way her shoulders relaxed as she did so. A façade faded, and her body relaxed – gone from a murderous psychopath to a honourable,  _ resting _ warrior. Maybe it was to say “the pain is over, I’ve had my fun”?

Her back turned, and her grip on her tools loose, she stripped her armour off, piece by piece. The distant shrieks and cackles of his fellow captives faded quickly as well – a pregnant pause coming over the torture barge’s halls.

“Tell me, mon-keigh, what do you call yourself?” If she was turning, the movement was torturously slow. The Space Marine swallowed, and panted for breath with each harsh crash of armour to the ground.

Inch by inch, pale, dirtied skin was revealed to him. No doubt marred by the quick scuffle the Dark Eldar found themselves in, swooping for captives. With every little nick and scar she revealed to him, the more he  _ craved _ to touch it – to run his fingers over the woman’s hard past.

She kept her breaths steady, her ears tuning out the gleeful shrieks and rapturous roars of her comrades, who’d no doubt lost control of themselves.

“Castillus… Yoriel Castillus…” He managed to enunciate, practically  _ huffing _ as his member stood proudly, eager for  _ contact _ . The torturer let out a chuckle, quiet and quick, and reefed through her tools. Yoriel’s body tensed as she continued rooting through the shelves and boxes of the dark ship, but he stood, still.

“You may call me Lae’Gura... Or  _ queen _ … Or  **_mother_ ** …  _ By the muses _ , if you can still speak when I’m done with you, you can call me just about whatever you want, Yoriel…”

Like lightning, the cross he was tied to flipped, the spikes retracted, and Yoriel fell flat on his back, knocking the air from his lungs. As he struggled to catch his breath, Lae’Gura had set her lips upon his, her arms pinning him down flat against the cross-turned-table.

Blood from his dual hearts blared against his eardrums, blocking out the rising sound from beneath them. His lips lit anew with a golden fire, and he kissed the Eldar back with fervour, savouring the taste of the Xenos’ hunger, as if it were his last. The same flame that burnt within him surged within her lithe body, reacting and feeding into his desires.

She parted from him, and he reached out to capture their kiss again, craning his neck up to meet her once more. Lae’Gura shuddered at the contact, but broke nonetheless. She danced a hand over his hardened chest – the faded surgical scars of his Astartes uplifting, and the fresh, harsh marks of battle.

As the fire within them roared, they appeased the other, taking in the form of the other in a way they hadn’t bothered to before. Her hair, a gentle, glowing blue, cascaded down, framing her pale face. For their time together, the harsh, dark edge of Lae’Gura’s smile faded, and the memories of the pain she’d inflicted on him had faded away.

And whereas she once saw the pure, burning hatred of alien-kind in his eyes, Lae’Gura now saw a  _ man _ , lingering for the embrace a father. 

She’d chide him about the homosexual undertones of the fact after, and instead brought a daring hand to play with the Marine’s long locks. As she did, he maintained steady breaths, inhaling the scent of the Xenos. Lae’Gura cracked a toothy smile, and brought her lips down upon the Lord again, fingers wrapping deftly around his length.

Yoriel’s breath hitched as the Eldar’s tongue danced around his,  _ probing _ him for whatever tastes she could. Her hands were elegant, teasing, and pleasing – softly yet firmly gripping around the Space Marine’s hardening cock. Her movements were almost a blur to him – presenting a truly inhuman grace and poise with every jiggle of her hips, or darting of her tongue.

He groaned into their coupling, eyes half-shut and mind in a daze, trying to keep his focus on the smiling torturer. His stomach tightened as his lower half gave way to a feeling he’d thought he’d shunned out decades ago. Lae’Gura was quick, though, and slowed her movements, softening her already heavenly grip to prolong her captive’s torture.

He groaned again, and he could taste the curl of her lips – and the enjoyment she gained from watching him squirm. Lae’Gura parted her lips from his again, and took a single, deep breath, idly licking the trail of saliva that connected them.

“You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you? I want you to  _ earn _ that, dear Yoriel… I want to hear  _ your _ screams before you… Meet the muses,” She drawled, whispering against the Marine’s ear in hushed, careful tones. Yoriel kept his half-lidded gaze upwards and shuddered as Lae’Gura picked her pace up, nibbling at his earlobe.

“ _ By the bloody Emperor… _ ” 

She took position on the table next to him, bare skin pressing on bare skin, the Astartes’ hardened tissue layering against the Drukhari’s nubile dermis. The Dark Eldar continued her agonising pattern of edging,  _ challenging _ the Marine for his right to release. It drove her  _ mad _ knowing that each twitch, grunt, moan or prayer was because of  _ her. _

Sure, the prayers might’ve been addressed to the Emperor and went on about “forgiveness for such a Heresy”, but they were  _ because of her _ !

As with the others captured by her kind, the walls soon bounced with Yoriel’s yearning cries. He tried cheating – bucking his hips against the grip of his lover as she slowed her pace, but she was faster, and released her hand entirely.

“Oh… Oh  _ curse you _ Xeno…” He chuckled, biting harsh breaths of air in between words. Lae’Gura’s grin spread from ear to ear, and she giggled in delight, resuming her grip again.

“Come now, Yoriel, surely we can move past name-calling…” She cooed, thumbing over the tip of the Lord’s dick, thoroughly coating her fingers in the Marine’s pre. A grunt pushed its way out his lips, and he bit down, drawing blood. She kissed him again, freely, and licked the errant fluids away, drawing him under trance once more.

As their lips broke again, Lae’Gura took in her partner’s scent as he did hers, layering kiss after kiss to the Lord’s neck and collarbone as sweat, iron, blood, and gaseous lust flared into her nostrils. It stirred her, stirred her until she came to a boiling point. Lae’Gura kept her calm façade, and separated from her lover’s side, blowing cool air where she’d left her mark on Yoriel.

He cried out again, eyes bolted to the ceiling as he writhed under the fingers of the Xeno.

“Look at me, Yoriel... I will let you meet your release if you meet my gaze…”

And so, with quick deliberation, he did. A part of him didn’t want the moment to end. To be introduced to such a pleasure – to elope from the horrors of the 40 th millennium, even if for the brief time he and Lae’Gura had spent together…

His training, indoctrination, and faith all crumbled to dust as they looked into one another, connecting. His younger days of torment and training gave way to a  _ calm _ – a complete and utter lack of urgency.

Lae’Gura couldn’t even feel the pull of She-Who-Thirsts. Whether to take that as a blessing or a sign of things yet to come, she didn’t really care. Her mind was clouded with…  _ Warmth. _

Her formative years, spent in a tube, being fed images of those she’d topple on her way to the top became faded, giving way to security –  _ peace _ . This wasn’t some trick to lower the Lord’s mental guard – there were a million and one ways to do so that did  _ not _ require her hand around Yoriel’s begging cock.

Perhaps that was the moment she decided to unclothe herself? To take a chance, one in quadrillion, that this mon-keigh before her would not cast her away? By the muses,  _ even after she’d stripped and humiliated him? _

Yoriel could see it in her eyes now, caring not if her movements slowed down.  _ Her _ guard was lowered. Her smile had dropped as they shared a calm between them, her errant arm wrapped around his massive frame.

Another smile – not a garish grin nor sinister smirk – curled her lips. It wasn’t practiced, and it looked goofy, but it was a smile nonetheless, one that Yoriel was happy to share in. She closed her eyes, and met his lips again, quickening her movements. As the Lord attempted to protest, and his throat went  _ ragged _ from his orgasmic roar, Lae’Gura moaned in kind, taking a wicked pleasure in her lover’s ire.

4 or 5 stupendous ropes slapped onto Yoriel’s chest, simmering. Lae’Gura’s gentle grip slowed down further, and became drenched in the Lord’s seed, slickening her pumps. Tears pricked at the corner of Yoriel’s eyes as he lay his head down gently, the Dark Eldar’s tongue still entwined with his.

He was the first to break their union this time, and did so with an errant cry, lowering his gaze back down to his lover.

“L-Lae’Gura…” He grunted, chest rising and falling with massive gulps of air. She mewled with delight as his cooing tones hit her ears, and straddled him, dancing a long leg to the other side of the Lord’s frame. His eyes widened as he caught gaze of Lae’Gura’s  _ salivating _ sex, positioned precariously over his own.

“Still… Standing, I see. Ever the Marine…” The torturer joked with a dry chuckle, swallowing an errant lump in her throat as she sized up the Lord. Throwing away all pretence of teasing, she locked eyes with him again, and took his length inside,  _ squeaking _ out in her favourite mixture of pleasure and pain.

“W-w-word of w-warning, Y-Yori-el… Ej-jaculate makes terrible lubricant…” She grunted, loathing herself for not being adaptable enough to take on an Astartes in such a manner. Lae’Gura maintained her focus on pleasuring the both of them, leaving herself completely open for Yoriel to  _ take  _ her.

So focussed the Dark Eldar was, that she couldn’t even remark on Yoriel’s grotesque, sex-warped visage. Though he still wished for his chains to be broken – now it was for an entirely different goal. Pleasure and warmth consumed his mind, stoking the sweet fire of his being as Lae’Gura opened herself to him and  _ let him in _ .

She found a suitable length that she could take, and a gentle rhythm, that had beckoned to her torturous strokes and banished them, surrounding and constricting a good part of the Marine’s dick. Her Xeno nethers  _ drooled _ in celebration of their union, and dripped, trickling past her folds and anointing the Marine, over, and over again.

With no pretence, Yoriel “met the Emperor” once more, rocketing the Dark Eldar full of his seed. Each shot of pure white fire tightened and flared her core, culminating in a mighty scream that put her sisters on the Barge to shame. Inch by inch Lae’Gura lost grip of her sanity, waves of pleasure gently rocking her kneeling body.

As she came down, upon Yoriel’s broad chest, and back to the reality of the Barge, she  _ mewled _ into her lover, wrapping her arms around him tightly. Gentle huffs and the idle hum of the ships’ engine filled her ears – a sound she could’ve grown quite used to.

“My… Queen…” Yoriel whispered into her ears, crooning against her resting head with his. She smiled, and her core lit again, the beckoning of the words making the Marine twitch inside her still. Lae’Gura  _ sighed _ , and after some time, brought a finger up to trace Yoriel’s scars.

Minutes passed in a calm silence as the armies below echoed with the grunts and roars of coupling like theirs, likely contributing to a latent, innate calm the two  _ bathed _ in. Yoriel grunted and shifted uncomfortably about, before clearing his throat, shattering Lae’Gura’s calm.

“Uh… If I may… Could you release these binds?” He mumbled. The Dark Eldar giggled at him again, and crawled upwards to come face to face, giving the Marine an up-close view of her perky breasts.

“Say please, Yoriel. Call me a name. Any you’d like,” she beckoned him, pretending to shiver, shaking her chest for the Marine to see. Clearing his throat again, Yoriel tore his stare away from the Eldar’s sizable tits and met her gaze again.

“Lae’Gura…  _ My Queen _ , release me please, from these binds…” He begged, making the woman squeal in delight. A quick thumbing around for a button and some harsh whirring later, Yoriel’s hands and legs were unbound, and he immediately began scratching various itches, sighing and huffing with sweet relief after some seconds.

Lae’Gura shook her head and giggled again.

“My, it’s been a while. Sorry about that…”

“It’s fine, truly…”

And as quick as he could, though easily predictable to Lae’Gura’s keen eyes, Yoriel wrapped his massive arms around her tough, nubile body, etching each scar of hers into his mind. They spent minutes again, waiting to see if the sounds below would die out, waiting to see if their coupling would wear off and their hatred would rise.

And after waiting, Yoriel grunted again, and traced a thumb over a large slash on Lae’Gura’s shoulder.

“Where did you receive this?” He mumbled again, catching the Dark Eldar’s attention quickly.

“Oh… I… Can’t quite remember, actually… Potentially from another mon-keigh’s bayonet, some years ago. On a dark, damp, dump of a planet…” She swallowed another lump in her throat and repeated Yoriel’s smooth ministrations, asking him in kind about the scars he’d adorned himself with.

Though he did not boast, Lae’Gura saw the mirth bubble behind Yoriel’s eyes as recounted his adventures. And though she’d go on about her other conquests, Yoriel witnessed the calm take a hold of her as the stories came, trading words like lovers did…


	6. Valhalla, ORKZ ORKZ ORKZ

In the frozen, inhospitable wastes of Valhalla, there roared two armies – the honourable, vengeful Ice Warriors, and the WAAAGH! of Ungud the Ugly. The open terrain the Orks had chosen to assault – near an entrance to Pruinae Amare, gave way to scathing, blistering winds. The military might of the humans defending the entrance proved no deterrent for the green hordes. 

Holding steadfast, they had lines upon lines of snipers hiding in waiting amongst the thick sheets of Valhalla, cloaked from any Ork’s sight. On the front, dug into pure white trenches were leagues of bayonets – behind them, flamers, and behind them, heavy artillery lines.

Behind them, dug into the walls of the underground city of Pruinae Amare, were hundreds of copies of that formation. And in front of it all, stood a general, clad in thick, woolly armour. The deep, angry scar that streaked from his forehead down through his robotic eye pulsed in the whipping winds of Valhalla.

He and his honour guard  _ were _ the front line, serving to deflect any heavy hitters of Ungud’s horde – any that managed to slip past a torrent of laser and bolter fire.

The green tides stampeded in, screaming their hellish, unintelligible screech all throughout the wastes. Ungud’s WAAAGH! had barely any armour salvaged – they’d torn apart the native megafauna easily, and had resorted to breeding and harvesting furry squigs to combat the cold. Ungud herself was the only Ork in her troupe to be wearing good, old-fashioned Adamantium, and it was only to cover her face. 

Tales spoke that her WAAAGH! had salvaged it from the fingertip of a Titan, found as they prowled planets for precious booty. Eye-holes were later drilled into the Adamantium fingertip, and a glowing red crystal was jammed inside the hole that Ungud couldn’t see out of to make her see better. Leading the charge, and noticeably the largest of her warband, Ungud lunged into battle with a brutish chain-axe, swinging ferociously before she’d even made contact with the soft of a human’s belly.

Ice Warriors chanted as the Ork ranks came pouring in through Pruinae’s gate, pushing through the general’s sword blockade with a bleeding ignorance. Two Warriors in particular, Vrako and Arjold, held their ground as some Shoota Gurlz sprinted past, spraying bullets down the throat of the tunnel.

“Never cave in,” Vrako the ‘Merciless’ began again, clad in a hooded flak jacket that did little to keep the cold from biting his veins. 

“Never surrender,” Arjold the moustachioed ‘Strongman’ continued, fending off any and all Ork Gurlz who attempted to swarm his and Vrako’s fortified position.

“Valhalla will bathe in the sun,” Vrako breathed again, covering his general’s back, heart pumping furiously to keep himself under control.

“When all is dead and gunned,” Arjold finished, battering himself against the greenskin tide with his bayonet, fearless. 

Battles on Valhalla were won with sound more than anything – if you could hear your chant going, then you were winning. If the other side started screaming louder than you could chant, then you had to silence them. All along the mighty underground gate, the words flowed endlessly, reverberating against the tundra walls to counteract the inspiring power of the WAAAGH!

But the tides never stopped. The sound grew, and grew, until the forces fought for sonic superiority. The Ice Warriors fought  _ relentlessly _ , defending their home like no other PDF before them. But the infamous dedication and vengeance these Warriors were known for could only last so much.

None knew where Ungud grew her WAAAGH!, nor how her horde was amassed unseen, as their numbers truly seemed limitless. The choked the mouth to Pruinae Amare, bathing the tunnels in darkness as the tides turned for the PDF.

“The general! Vrako, COVER HIM BETTER!” Arjold barked, taking a solid punch to his jaw from a lowly Ork grunt, before giving one right back to the green she-beast.

“COVER YOURSELF ARJOLD! BLADE ON SIX!”

Arjold ducked, and the Ork Gurl who had punched him was skewered by her mates’ rusty blade, drenching the Warrior in her blood. The Strongman ripped the blade out and elbowed the stab-happy Gurl in her chest, before redirecting the blade back.

He then wiped the sweat from his brow, and resumed his fighting stance.

“Thank you! NOW COVER THE GENERAL AGAIN!”

Before Vrako could even refocus his sights, a bolt of lightning, golden like the ancient armour of the emperor, pierced the surface of Valhalla. The resulting thunder burst the eardrums of the Guard, and rolled down into Pruinae.

And then, silence. The hordes stopped, being yanked backwards by an unseen force. Another flash of lightning, and the WAAAGH! became  _ halved _ . Like they never existed, half the Ork Gurlz under Ungud’s banner faded to dust, not noticing or caring. Vrako, Arjold, and their comrades looked on in quiet horror – before another flash of lightning crashed upon the planet.

Then, the confused grunts of the Orks turned to speech –  _ actual,  _ comprehensible speech. 

“WOTZ GOIN’ ON, BOSS?” One of Ungud’s commanders asked her, in a cockney drawl that thoroughly confused the present Ice Warriors.

“The Ork… Just spoke, Vrako…” Arjold murmured, hands limp in shock.

“BUGGERED IF I KNOW, BERFA! GIT NOB-CRUSHA AND THAT WEIRDGURL TO FIND OUT!” Ungud undulated through her helmet, holding the Guardsmen’s general by his head. He struggled and squirmed in her massive grip, keeping his neck from snapping as the Ork Warboss pondered on her next course of action.

“OI, NOB-CRUSHA, BREASTILDA!” Berfa barked, trying to get the attention of the Ork Nob and Weirdgurl. The staff-wielding weird girl and her thickly-coated companion had their eyes set on Vrako, who remained motionless in his trench. 

“WOT ARE YOU TWO QUIMZ’ STARIN’ AT!? HE’S JUST A HUMIE GIT HE IS! NOT LIKE THAT BIG, TUFF ONE OVER THERE!” Berfa jabbed a muscled green finger over Arjold’s way, making the moustachioed strongman blush.

“BOSS, YOU WANT ME TO SLAP SOME SENSE INTO ‘EM!?”

Ungud’s breathing could be heard, heavy as the snowfall, as she bonded gazes with the strung-up general. Through the veil of her pudgy green fingers, the general could peer past, deep into the eyes of his adversary.

“BOSS!?”

Ungud’s heart skipped a beat as she caught the general eyeing up her body – prime specimens of war the Orks were, bred for bodies that could squish, twist, and strike without effort. Never had the general taken a closer look at a specimen like Ungud – at the Ork’s massive, curvy thighs, nor her heaving, heavy chest, boasting breasts a Slaaneshi daemon would scoff at.

Not to mention, the  _ heat _ , coming from her war-toned, well-scarred body. 

“Ork! If you can understand me, then know this;” the general shouted, gaining the Warboss’s attention. 

“My men will  _ fuck _ each and every last one of you into the snow of Valhalla, and I, General Porcos Amans, will be the one to lead this, the Conquest of  _ Fucking!  _ The Emperor is with us, and we will never become flaccid to the likes of you!” Like a true member of the Ice Warriors of Valhalla, Amans adapted. His words bounced against the tunnels walls, and he made sure to pour his heart into them, channelling all the charisma he could.

“WOT!? NAH, T’IS TO BE OUR WAAAGH TURNED FUUUCK, HUMIE! YOU CAN’T HANDLE OUR FUUUCK!” Ungud  _ screamed  _ back, tearing off her furs and dropping the human man, who immediately began disrobing as well.

Emperor knew how they could understand each other, and Emperor knew how in the Immaterium’s infinitesimal insanity they could withstand the mighty cold of Valhalla,  _ naked _ , but Amans couldn’t care.

He  _ had _ to set an example for his men. For if they could not trust their general to boldly throw himself into the fray, then how would they fight? How would they go on, knowing they were going into a perilous skirmish with a commander who  _ wouldn’t _ fuck a Xenos if the situation called for it?

Anything else was simply unacceptable. Amans knew this. As Ungud’s swinging, green-tipped tits broke free of her improvised bra, Amans whipped out his dick, and had stripped his upper coat off,  _ bathing _ in the Ork’s mighty, horny heat. Ungud circled him, narrowing her bionic eye at his, ready to pounce.

“YOU HEARD THE GENERAL, WE  _ FUCK _ FOR OUR LIVES, WARRIORS!”

Berfa pounced upon Arjold, and before he could take a moment to contemplate the beauty of the Ork’s warrior-bred expression, she leapt, crotch first. Having undone her stripped-fur skirt, her dripping pussy landed on its target. Arjold fell atop the trenches lip, back pressed against the ice as the sweet, tropical scent of Berfa’s sex sunk into his nostrils.

“LICK, BIG BOY! TONGUE BERFA GOOD, MAKE ME FEEL THAT HAIR OF YOURS TICKLIN’ ME!” Berfa barked, knees squishing the Warrior’s head as he obeyed his commands with fervour. Empowered by the rousing speech of his general, Arjold clamped his arms around the soft belly of the Orkish Amazon, and soared upwards.

With a smack of her back hitting against the strongman’s lower torso, Berfa let out a gentle moan, reeling at the sensation of having something,  _ anything _ inside her, that wasn’t a knife or bullet. Now suspended upside-down, she wrapped her legs around Arjold’s head and humped his face with all her Orkish might – determined, if nothing else.

Not to be outdone, she tore the thick leggings off the Warrior, freeing his sprouting cock. Letting out a high yelp as he became exposed to Valhalla’s icy perils, Arjold nonetheless pressed on, thrusting his tongue in and out of Berfa’s smouldering nethers. Without a harsh viridian blush, Berfa took Arjold’s cock in her mouth, and sucked like her very  _ FUUUCK!  _ depended on it.

From his current view, Arjold could pour over every detail of the Ork Gurl’z beautiful body. Her dark, thick lips wrapped tightly around his pecker, and with every bob she made, she was able to take in more and more of her lover’s Dakka. He growled as he hastened his efforts, remaking on the cute pink nipples that were now popping out of the Ork’s slipping garments, as well as her tight, toned tummy.

Why the hell were they ever fighting the Orks when they could’ve done just this?

‘ _ By the Emperor _ ,’ Arjold thought to himself, twisting his tongue inside Berfa’s boiling canal, ‘ _ our general really is a tactical genius. _ ’ With a deep, shameful tinge to her cheeks, Berfa then came, mewling around the slobbered knob of her lover. Yet Arjold didn’t stop – his tongue continued diving, twisting, and fucking the suspended Ork Gurl, whilst trying to supress his own release.

Vrako, on the other hand, was pinned to the ground by the Weirdgurl and the Nob, stripped bare. The heat generated by the Ork’s latent, hitherto  _ untapped _ desires had actually started to melt the snow around them – sinking them further below the view of the rest of the soldiers.

Breastilda rode the man’s face as she tapped into the psychic links of her Ork companions, echoing their pleasures like a network node. Nob-Crusha, the biggest, and quietest of Ungud’s FUUUCK! lived up to her name, squatting deeply as she rode Vrako’s thick cock. Vrako himself was happy, and glad to be out of sight of his companions – for if they could see how much he  _ enjoyed  _ being pressed on by two Ork beauties, then surely, they’d be ashamed of him.

So he saved his strength. Perhaps when Nob-Crusha finally stopped milking him for all he was worth, and Breastilda finally reached the psychic climax she was looking for,  _ he’d strike _ . A length of rope here, some heavy domination play there, and Vrako would be set for the combat ahead of him.

He could hear nothing except the cute mewls from the psyker his tongue was inside, and the panting of the knob-crushing nob who was currently fucking him.  _ And it was beautiful _ . No engine’s hum nor cities’ screams could be heard at all, not a gunshot to be fired. 

Breastilda’s eyes were white with pleasure as the collective WAAAGH! turned FUUUCK! sang their desires in her brain, bouncing back and forth as she could feel herself being penetrated in every which way,  _ used _ , and cradled, all at the same time. Thus she staved off orgasm for as long as she could – for her first would be her last on that snowy day. 

Nob-Crusha stared down her charge – the one she’d been bossed to protect with all her life, and actively pushed her will against the smaller Ork’s weakening mind. 

The Nob’s low growls grew, grating against her fiery core…

Breastilda only picked this humie because Nob-Crusha did, anyway! And it’s not like Breastilda picked him first and made Nob-Crusha wanna challenge her, no way! Nob-Crusha actively challenged for the right to claim this tough little humie as her own living sex-toy – a prize for only the most depraved of Ork-kind!

…Or rather, the kind of Ork who would fuck humies, at least!

Nob-Crusha gave brief thought to her sisters across the galaxy that might’ve been doing the same as Ungud’s FUUUCK! – were they too, finding humies to fuck until there was nothing left? Or would the rest of them disappear, like her good friend, Bum-Beata? These thoughts pervaded her mind until she realised that she no longer had something  _ stretching her _ .

She darted her gaze around and shifted her focus to find Breastilda, near brain-dead, and tied up, heaving her small chest against the thawed ground of Valhalla. Nob-Crusha whipped her gaze around to find that same humie, smirking. Quicker than she could think to react, Vrako skid behind her, and roped her arms up tightly, pressing them against Ork’s muscly back.

“OI!” Was the only sound Nob-Crusha could articulate, before having her head pressed against the ground, and her pussy  _ filled _ once again. Her anger soon turned to indignation, as Breastilda’s psychic link reformed with the Ork FUUUCK!, turning her mind to mush. Vrako now gave everything he had to the service of the Imperium, slamming his hips against his new lover’s, and reeling his thoroughly juiced cock back, much like one would do in the act of love-making.

_ ‘This was by the Emperor’s will, _ ’ Vrako thought, hands digging into the tough Ork flesh as Nob-Crusha’s tongue lolled out onto the Valhallan dirt,  _ ‘this is what the Emperor demands of me. To fuck the Orks. To make them mine... To spread the Emperors love!’ _ Reaching the mewling Ork Weirdgurl, Vrako dragged her towards him, and smashed his lips against hers, one arm wrapped tightly around Breastilda’s smaller frame.

As Valhalla’s ground became thawed from the combined, resonating heat of the two armies, Ungud and Amans still traded blows. They’d brought each other to their knees – now lying on the cold ground, faces buried in the other’s crotch. Ungud’s thick, green thighs were clamped tightly around Aman’s skull, humping him for another sweet  _ ascendance _ . Amans gave the green menace his all, inspired by the ferocity and determination of his own men to follow him into a battle of this calibre.

Wrapped tightly around his cock was a pair of Ork hands, working overtime to make him cum – to splatter his batter over the mighty mask of Ungud the Ugly. Deep in the dirt, the general buried his tongue deep inside Ungud, wiggling in every which way to try and find her weakness.

But it was too late; and Ungud’s vice proved to be too tight, too welcoming. Amans muffled his croaks of pleasure as his balls churned, firing the hot spunk against the visor of Ungud’s helmet. In a flash, Amans witnessed a small change take place – the Ork Fuckboss’s ass had jiggled on its own, and swelled out into a thicker, fatter form.

“THAT’S IT, GURLZ! MAKE ‘EM CUM FOR BIGGA BUMZ!” She roared out to her soldiers, slipping out of Aman’s grip and pinning him down, thrusting herself upon the general’s mighty chainsword. Weak, tired, but not broken, Porcos Amans bided his time and gathered his remaining strength – thinking safe, yet arousing thoughts all the same.

This  _ Ork _ lover of his might’ve gained the upper hand, but she would not have the final victory that day! She would know the might of the Imperium, the breadth of its fist, and the girth of his cock!

Amans made  _ sure  _ of it – his army  _ would _ win.


End file.
